“A fakir. Anyone who can talk up female fixtures and furbelows as you have done, without knowing any more about them than you do, and never make a break, is bound to scratch his mark. From the way you manipulate the dainty things you might have the touch for a slight-of-hand performer and magician, but with that smooth tongue of yours I fancy you have chosen about right.” I suppose I blushed at his praise, but tried to take it as a matter of course, and asked what he would have done if customers had refused to call. “Oh, called on them, if I thought the town was worth the working. Otherwise, I would have shifted my base and tried something else. A man should always try to have a little money where he can get hold of it in case of need, and keep a dodge or two ahead of his customers, so that if one fails to work he’ll have another to bring on.” “But no dodge ought to fail,” I put in. “If you have the thing the people want they are bound to buy it; and if they don’t want it now, make them want it by the time you get through. That is my idea of the business.” “And a very good one it is; only, sometimes, receipts don’t balance expenditures, and then it is about time to quit and try something else. I can talk as well as the next, but I have an occasional failure myself. It looks as though business would last here for several days yet. By that time we will be pretty well out of sorts, and I’ve a nice stock of soap coming for the next stand. If you want to try your hand I’ll let you do the talking, and see what you can do with it.” The professor was right in his predictions. The ladies who patronized us the first day sent others on the second, and returned themselves on the third. When we left, it was with the good will of the entire community, and no inconsiderable quantity of their coin. When Professor Carter changed from music and millinery to soap he did not think it at all necessary to change his name at the same time. Indeed, his name was on the packages, and the article he put out was a successful curiosity. By the time we got to work he had drilled me thoroughly on its history and merits. It was known as Doctor Carter’s Peerless Soap-salve. It could be used for either a soap or a salve; the total cost of manufacturing it, without wrappers, was less than five cents a cake. I know that it sold freely at twenty-five. We had a little preliminary practice before reaching the town which was to be the scene of operations, and I appeared before the crowd confident in my ability, and anxious to test the glibness of my tongue. The doctor had given me the patter he usually employed, and of course I expected to use it as an outline, subject to alteration as occasion permitted or required. He carried a violin, and it did not take long to draw a crowd.